


Monstrous

by valdomarx (cptxrogers)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Incubus Jaskier, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptxrogers/pseuds/valdomarx
Summary: Jaskier finds out he’s half incubus and has no clue what to do.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 717





	Monstrous

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for body horror themes and some gore.

His horns don’t start growing in until he’s 30.

Jaskier had heard rumours throughout his childhood of his mother’s infidelity and her penchant for bedding magical creatures, but he’d thought that was typical malicious court gossip. His father’s coldness toward him he’d assumed to be the way of nobility and due to his own failures as a son.

And sure, he’s always attracted attention from men and women alike, but he’d believed that was due to the charisma he worked hard to exude. People often wanted to sleep with him, but he was young and handsome and talented, so why wouldn’t they?

He certainly does like sex, though that’s hardly unusual. And he does feels better afterwards: sated, fulfilled, more energetic. But wasn’t that the point?

And then one day he’s washing his hair and feels prominent bumps on his head. He thinks he must have hit his head when he was drunk, not an unprecedented occurrence. But within days a hideous mass of bone is pushing out from his skull and he realises something is terribly wrong.

He locks himself in his rooms at Oxenfurt Academy and tells everyone he has a fever. The students leave food outside his door and he spends three weeks in isolation, watching in horror as horns sprout and grow terrifyingly fast until they form neat curls on either side of his head.

He stares into a polished metal plate at his newly monstrous countenance, and knows that the path of his life stands at a precipice.

_No_ , he decides. He has worked too hard to get away from his hateful upbringing and to become his own person to allow his family to drag him down once again.

Taking a knife to his own head to remove the horns is the most painful thing he has ever experienced, but he will not let the life he has built be destroyed by this thing inside him. He stands alone in his room, blood dripping down his face, and stares in horror at the curled mass of horn in his hand, gory and vile.

Even after that, the horns continue to grow back. He assiduously files them down, though it hurts every time.

When spring arrives he heads out to meet Geralt as usual. If Geralt notices anything amiss, he doesn’t mention it. They travel together and it’s blessedly normal - at least until Jaskier gets kidnapped.

He’s snatched by a band of ruffians, thrown in a dank underground cell and left there. Things could be worse, on balance. At least he’s marked as a hostage so he’s fed and not tortured. A few days in he overhears the bandits discussing how he’s the perfect bait for a much greater prize, the White Wolf himself.

Jaskier oscillates between hoping Geralt stays the hell away from this obvious trap and fantasising about being rescued. It’s cold and dark here, but most of all it’s lonely. And he can feel his horns growing back in, inch by terrible inch. He has never been comfortable being alone.

After two interminable weeks, he hears the distant sound of fighting from above, clashing swords and yells of pain. That has to be Geralt, and he knows that afraid or not, he has to help before Geralt ends up locked in here too.

So Jaskier does what he does best. One of the guards has been staring at his horns with obvious interest, and it’s laughably easy to attract his attention and seduce him. When Jaskier backs him up against a damp wall and swallows down his seed he feels a _zing_ of energy and the man drops to the cold stone floor, unconscious.

Jaskier feels _strong_. He pushes open the door to his cell and faces three armed men between him and the door. He picks up a nearby oak table like it weighs nothing and tosses it at them, smashing it into two of them who go down immediately. The third is knocked to the floor and scrambles for his sword, but Jaskier is on him in moments, foot pressed against his chest.

“Give me the keys,” he says, voice vibrating deep in his chest. The man squirms but doesn’t answer and Jaskier pushes down with his foot, feeling the man’s ribs crack and buckle beneath him. “I won’t ask again.”

“Okay, okay,” the man croaks, coughing up flecks of blood. “In my pocket.”

Jaskier snatches the keys, unlocks the steel door to the dungeon, and magnanimously leaves the man alive. He hasn’t the time to stop and kill him anyway, Geralt must be nearby and he needs Jaskier’s help.

As he hurries up the stairs and away from the rank dungeon, the sounds of battle increase and he hears a familiar voice raised in an unfamiliar shout.

“Where is he?” the voice yells. The clashing of blades rings through the fort. “ _Where is he?”_

Jaskier rounds the corner to a courtyard to find Geralt spattered in blood and surrounded by the corpses of bandits, their leader on his knees with Geralt’s hand around his throat and Geralt’s sword pointed between his eyes.

He should have known that this rough bunch would be no match for a witcher in full swing.

“I’m here,” he says, and his voice comes out scratchy. He’s been dreaming of this moment, but now he finds himself poleaxed by the reality of Geralt seeing him in his true, hideous form.

Geralt looks at him, and his eyes widen in shock for just a second. He slits the throat of the man in front of him and pushes his body to the side without ever tearing his eyes from Jaskier.

He steps toward him, sword still raised, and for a moment Jaskier truly thinks that Geralt will run him through with his blade, just another monster to be slain.

But then Geralt tosses his sword aside and races over to Jaskier to wrap him in a hug so tight it’s stifling.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” he breathes. “You’re alive.”

Oh. He pats Geralt awkwardly on the back. Even in this most dire of situations, he enjoys having strong arms around him more than he should.

“I’m okay,” he says, and Geralt buries his face into Jaskier’s hair and inhales, as if despite the rank state of his unwashed hair, Geralt has truly missed him.

Geralt pulls back and his eyes flick ever so briefly to Jaskier’s horns.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier blurts out. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I can only imagine what you must think of me. I won’t be any trouble. I’ll go. I’ll leave you be. But please don’t turn me in.”

Geralt frowns. Well, frowns more than unusual. “You being half incubus has never bothered me before. Why would it bother me now?”

Jaskier‘s mouth drops open in disbelief. “You _knew_? All this time?”

Geralt huffs, but there’s an undeniable edge of fondness to it. “Jaskier, I’m a witcher. Of course I knew. I could tell the minute I met you.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

Now it’s Geralt turn to look shocked. “ _You_ didn’t know? Hells, Jaskier. I thought you were trying to be circumspect.”

“Circumspect?” Jaskier laughs hysterically. “Right, because that’s just my style. Do you think I, a monster, would have rocked up in Posada and imposed myself on you, a monster hunter, if I had known? Does that seem sensible to you?”

“Not sensible, no.” The corner of Geralt’s mouth flicks up. “But it does sound exactly like something you’d do.”

Jaskier intends to pout but instead feels himself smiling for the first time in weeks, because Geralt has him there.

Geralt runs the back of his fingers down Jaskier’s cheek, and the leather of his gloves is warm and smooth against his skin. “You’re not a monster,” he says, like it’s that simple. “People might think you monstrous, but their ignorance is no reflection on you.”

He moves to brush his fingers delicately along the edge of one of Jaskier’s horns. Jaskier can’t feel it, not directly, but the vibrations of his touch send tingles racing across his scalp, making him weak at the knees. “And you don’t have to hide yourself from me.”

Jaskier looks at the floor, because he can’t look at Geralt right now, he just can’t. “Even like this, I can stay? You won’t send me away?” His voice sounds so small and pathetic.

Geralt’s fingers slot under his chin and lift his head until their eyes are locked. “You can stay,” he says, certain and sure; Jaskier‘s rock as always. “We can be monstrous together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [over here](https://valdomarx.tumblr.com/post/620737611122737152/anon-requested-could-you-possibly-write) on tumblr.


End file.
